Spotlight
by GeorgyannWayson
Summary: It's not easy living within a family of geniuses, especially when you're something of a moron yourself. Used to dwelling in the shadows while his family rules the spotlight, the Holmes patriarch will receive one of the greatest gifts for Father's Day that he has ever gotten: words of thanks (a Father's Day one-shot).


_This is a one shot from my AU universe that starts with 'A Small Price to Pay for Her' and continues through 'The Beginnings of Us'. I tried to write this in a style that could make sense to a reader not familiar with my AU canon, so please enjoy!_

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**Spotlight**

_Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a dad. – Unknown_

"Chris, can you come downstairs, please?"

With a sigh, Christopher Holmes set his pen down at his wife, Linda's, request from the other side of the closed study door. He had been barricaded inside almost all day as he tried to finish a rough draft for a novel idea that he wanted to pitch, and right then, he wasn't too keen on being interrupted. But like the obedient husband that he was, he got up from his desk and opened the door to the study to walk out into the eerily silent hall.

He paused and listened for noise from the bedrooms of his two sons. At the ages of three and ten, Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes could make enough noise between them to rattle all of the houses on their street, but it was, at that moment, abnormally quiet. _Odd_, Chris thought to himself distantly. Usually, his nights consisted of prying the boys apart at least once from their ritualistic fighting. Although the silence was welcome, it was rather strange.

Maybe Linda had finally followed through with her threat of spiking their evening tea.

And if she did, that meant that they could have some uninterrupted time to themselves. Chris felt himself stand a little taller, a bit of a youthful stride making its way into his steps down the stairs. But the thoughts of a romantic evening halted as he stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked around the sitting room in surprise. Usually very clean and homely, it had been transformed into a makeshift theater of sorts, complete with a small stage. And apparently, this theater was only meant to seat one, as the couch and other chairs had been moved and only Chris's favorite large armchair remained right in the center of the room.

"What's going on here?" he asked as Linda, Mycroft and Sherlock all walked in and stood by the stage. With a sweeping gesture that spilled her long, blonde hair all around her shoulders, Linda smiled.

"It's a poetry reading," she explained simply. Chris blinked.

"A poetry reading?"

"Well…it's more like a general reading, but it's close enough, I suppose. It's Father Day, so I figured this would be a great time to showcase some of our original work."

He looked to his sons, who both smiled tentatively. Usually, Chris was the one that was reciting something, whether it was a chapter from a book to Sherlock, an article from an encyclopedia for Mycroft or romantic poetry for Linda behind closed doors. To have the tables turned on him was rather unexpected, but the gift of words, in his opinion, was essentially priceless.

"Well, I would love to hear what you all wrote," he said as he sat down in the chair to get comfortable.

"Ready, darling?" Linda asked little Sherlock, who nodded so eagerly, his dark curls bounced all over his head. She and Mycroft went off to sit in a pair of chairs at the side. With a stance of an adorable toy solider, Sherlock began to speak.

"Daddy, you the bestest daddy in the whole wide world!"

Chris couldn't help but beam at his son's loud and proud declaration.

"I like it when you play pirates with me, and buy me sweets when I sad, and…and…" Sherlock huffed and looked to Linda for help.

"Tell Daddy how much you like it when he reads to you," she suggested gently.

"Oh, yeah!" Sherlock said loudly, looking back to his smiling father. "I like it when you weed to me. I like that a whole lots. And I like it when you do exper...expera...experi..."

"Experiments," Mycroft finished gently.

"Yeah, exper-a-mends with me. And...that's it," he said in Linda's direction. With a nod to show her approval, everyone clapped.

"That was wonderful," Chris said, hoping that his voice didn't sound too choked up with emotion from his son's very simple, but extremely honest words. Sherlock looked to his older brother.

"Your turn," he announced, leaving the stage to take the seat that Mycroft vacated. With a soft cough, Mycroft took his place and put his hands behind his back, his portly body looking so regal as he regarded his words.

"Dad," he started. "There are many definitions for what you are; scientifically, for example, you are a _Homo sapien_." Chris had to fight to keep himself from laughing at Mycroft's extremely serious and…dare he say, heartfelt start to his speech. "Your role in our home is provider, protector, head of the household, bread winner, and so on. One could argue that by those qualities alone, you are a good father. But those that say that don't take into account all that you have done behind the scenes for us."

"For example," he continued, "There was a time when the boogeyman was a frequent visitor to my closet and you always made sure to check my room before I went to sleep. Many a good night's rest was gained from your persistent checks." Linda put a hand to her mouth to stifle her smile. "And of course, there was the time that Sherlock fell from the tree in the backyard. Mummy wasn't home, so it was up to you to repair his scrapped knee. Normally, a Band-Aid would've been the end of that experience, but you took it a step further and bought him ice cream because he was, as I recall, 'such a brave little boy'-"

"I was," Sherlock chimed in with a nod, earning himself a glower from his older brother at the rude interruption. Linda gently pat her youngest son's shoulder to quiet him down and nodded for Mycroft to continue.

"So, Dad," he said as he looked back to Chris. "Thank you for all that you do for our family and for being the example of what a true father is supposed to be to his children. I appreciate you." With a slight bow, Mycroft took his leave to gentle applause from everyone.

"That was very good, Mycroft," Linda praised.

"Yes, absolutely splendid," Chris agreed.

"Mine was gooder," Sherlock grumbled as his older brother passed him by.

"I suppose for your level of intellect and speech, it was. And by the way, it's 'better'," Mycroft returned coldly, earning himself a sharp stare from his mother as she took her place on the stage. She paused, as if trying to think of words to say, and took a deep breath.

"You know, for a long time, I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to have children."

At this announcement, the boys and Chris stared.

"Though my father tried his best to be a good parent, there was always a part of him that he would never share with his family, especially not with me. I think that in his mind, academics were more important than establishing and maintaining a healthy father and daughter relationship."

"I carried the experiences that I had with him to university, and a part of me was always hopeful that if I got married someday, my children would have a father that was…well, a father to them. A man who would help them learn to ride a bicycle, who would help them build an army of snowmen in the backyard during the wintertime and who would read them bedtime stories. A man who would pick them up and brush them off when they fell down, and cheer for them when they did well. I yearned to marry that type of man, and…I did."

"Darling, you may say you're the moron of this family, but I say that you are actually the wisest of us all."

At those words, Mycroft and Sherlock blinked, and Chris smiled.

"You understand that fatherhood isn't just about being there when the big events happen or when the tough times come; it's about being there for Sherlock when he can't sleep and needs a chapter of _The Hobbit _to lull him into dreamland. It's about helping Mycroft clean up his wounds from when Griffin and his gang beat him up and reminding him of how smart he is compared to those insufferable goons."

Everyone shared a soft laugh.

"And most of all," Linda continued. "It's about being an example of what a good man is to our sons. I am so proud to be your wife and incredibly lucky to call you the father of my children." She wiped at a tear that ran down her cheek. A brief silence passed as Chris tried to think of something to say; but were there any words that could adequately cover what he was feeling? He had to admit, sometimes it was just easier for him to stay in the dark while the spotlight shone on his genius family, but for once, they purposely let him, the ordinary one of them all, take center stage.

And it was the best Father's Day gift that he could've ever asked for.

He got to his feet and walked to Linda, drawing her into his embrace. He felt a small body collide with his hip and looked down to see Sherlock clutching him tightly around the waist. Mycroft, per his nature, stood from a close distance, but smiled all the same at the sight of the group hug.

"Happy's Father Day, darling," Linda murmured. Chris kissed her forehead.

"You all are the best gifts I have ever been given," he said as he pet Sherlock's wild curls with a free hand. As he continued to bask in the love and attention of his family, Chris thanked whoever was listening for deeming him worthy to be the Holmes patriarch.

Because in his oh, so humble opinion, with Linda, Mycroft and Sherlock in his life, it was always Father's Day.

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**NOTE: Today is Father's Day, and I wanted to celebrate by writing a one shot dedicated to Daddy Holmes and to any fathers that meander around here. If you're a dad, and you've somehow stumbled across this, I want to just say thank you for what you do. You're deeply appreciated.**

**Happy Father's Day.**

**GeorgyannWayson**


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